The Case of the Throwback Thursday
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: In three or four parts. Lieutenant Steve Drumm gets handed a case that seems to be right out of a 1940s detective film, and he and Sergeant Brice end up tripping over detective film cliches every time they turn around in this mystery of murder, mysterious women, missing people, and retro nightclubs.
1. Chapter 1

**Perry Mason**

 **The Case of the Throwback Thursday**

 **By Lucky_Ladybug**

 **Notes: The characters from shows are not mine. The other characters and the story are! This was inspired by, of all things, the theme song from the 1970s series** _ **Ellery Queen**_ **. I envisioned a parody of film noir/detective shows with Steve Drumm at the helm, and this happened. The mysterious woman is a character from** _ **Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?**_ **, and she was the final puzzle piece towards making this fic happen. Also, Happy Birthday to the awesome Richard Anderson! I wanted to have this done on the 8** **th** **, but that didn't quite work out. I will post it in several chunks since it's rather long for a oneshot (even though that is what it was intended to be).**

Lieutenant Steve Drumm gave a tired sigh as he leaned back at his desk and placed his hands behind his head. Another grim homicide case had wrapped up and he was alone with his thoughts. In the middle of the night, as it was now, the police station was fairly quiet. There were still officers on duty, of course; crime never stopped, no matter the time of day. But with his door shut, at one o'clock in the morning it was as silent as the grave.

Not a good analogy, really. But a detective in the Homicide division had to end up at least a little bit cynical.

He yawned and leaned forward, replacing some loose papers in their folder and closing it. The logical thing to do now was to go home and right to bed, especially since he would need to be at work much sooner than he would really like to be, considering the late hour.

He was putting some other items back in place on his desk when a knock at his door jerked him to attention. "Yeah?" he called.

The dark silhouette of a woman with a floppy, wide-brimmed hat decorated his door for only a moment before the knob turned and the mysterious being walked in. "Lieutenant Drumm," she said in a sultry, throaty voice, "I am in need of your services."

Steve stared at her in disbelief, oddly aware that it almost seemed that when she had walked in, the lights had dimmed. "I'm sorry, Miss," he started to say. "I'm just about to leave for the night. Surely someone else can help you, if this can't wait until morning?"

"It can't wait," she replied, and only came closer. She was dressed mostly in a sharp black suit and beige gloves, though her hat was gray and her blouse was white.

Feeling the long hours of sleeplessness nearly ready to overtake him, Steve sighed in his mind and tried to will himself to stay alert. "What is it then?" he asked. "This is the Homicide division, so I assume your case has to do with a homicide."

"You're right." The mysterious woman opened her purse and took out a piece of paper. "This morning, I received this in my mail."

Steve took it and fumbled for his reading glasses in order to read it. "'I'm warning you for the last time, make your brother stay out of matters that don't concern him if you want him to still be alive and well tonight.'" He looked up sharply. "Why didn't you report this in the morning?!"

"First I had to find my brother and try to talk to him," she answered. "In previous notes, they've warned me not to go to the police."

"But now you have." Steve set the note on his desk. "Is your brother dead?"

"I don't know." Her dark eyes filled with urgency. "When I returned home tonight, there was a broken window, blood all over the living room carpet, and no one in the house. Clearly there had been a fight of some kind."

"Just when did you get home?" Steve frowned, whipping off his glasses.

"Less than thirty minutes ago. I came straight here." She looked at him pleadingly. "I know people aren't considered missing until they've been gone for 24 hours, but considering all the evidence, that could be too late. Won't you start looking for him now?"

"I'll put someone on it," Steve promised. "But there's really no telling what happened at this point. Your brother could have surprised an intruder and wounded him. Maybe he went out chasing him down. If you go back to your house right now, he might be there, alive and well."

"I've been trying to call him, without success." Her attention turned to the telephone on his desk. "May I try again, on your telephone?"

"Go right ahead," Steve gestured.

She tried three times before giving up. "There's just no answer," she fretted. "If the situation is as you say, Lieutenant, he's still out chasing the intruder."

"What's your address?" Steve asked. "I'll see if there's a squad car in the area that can be radioed."

"725 Sunset Canyon Road," was the reply.

"There should be a car around there somewhere," Steve nodded. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll find out." He got up and crossed the room, opening the door into the outer office. "Sergeant Brice?"

His faithful partner, who was still filling out his report on the evening's events, looked up. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Find out if there's a squad car on Sunset Canyon Road," Steve directed. "If so, tell them to go to 725 and see if anyone's home. If no one answers, they're to patrol the area looking for any suspicious activity. Someone threatened to kill one of the occupants of that house."

Brice nodded. "Right." He reached for the radio.

Steve shut the door. "That should take care of it," he said. "If anything's going on, Brice will find out."

"Thank you," the woman said in relief. "I won't forget this, Steven."

Steve stared at her. "Just _Lieutenant_ will be fine."

She nodded. "Lieutenant."

"Where is it you work, anyway?" Steve wondered. He went back to his desk, perching on the edge of it.

"At the Play It Again, Sam Club," she told him. "It's a nightclub with a 1940s theme."

"I see." Steve scratched that down on a piece of paper. "Is there any chance your brother could have gone there looking for you?"

"I doubt it," she objected. "He would know I would be off my shift by now."

"What's his name?" Steve asked. "And your name too, come to think of it."

She sat down in a chair facing him. "His name is Carson Brill. I'm . . ." But she stopped herself as the door opened.

"Lieutenant?" Brice was leaning in. "Reed and Malloy are in the area, so they've gone over to look at the house. And I think we'd better get over there right now."

"Why?" Steve frowned, while the woman tensed.

"They found a body."

Immediately Steve looked to his guest. "What does your brother look like?"

She stood, already walking in determination to the door. "He's tall with dark brown hair, slightly messy."

"I'm not sure we'll be able to tell much about this guy's hair," Brice said, looking to her with kindness and concern. "Reed said his skull was bashed in."

She paled, but only clutched her purse tighter.

Steve was wide awake now. He got down from the desk, taking long strides to the door. "If it isn't your brother, he most likely did the damage," he said.

"It would have been in self-defense, Lieutenant," she replied calmly.

"Unless it was a case of mistaken identity," Steve grunted. "He could have hit the guy thinking his intentions were murderous when they weren't."

"We'll know soon enough," she said, walking into the office and past Sergeant Brice, who looked back to Steve with raised eyebrows.

"Don't look at me," Steve shot back. "You're the one who let her come back here."

"Actually, I had to go talk to Lieutenant Tragg," Brice said. "I wasn't here when she came through."

Steve shook his head. "I really know how to pick 'em," he growled. "First it was just a missing brother. Now it's homicide." He hurried past Brice, chasing after the mysterious woman. "And I still don't have her name."

Brice grabbed his fedora off the desk in the outer office and followed. "I thought you usually ask for that first thing, Lieutenant."

"Usually I do," Steve agreed. "Somehow I didn't get a chance to this time." He scowled. "These late hours must be really starting to get to me. You know what else is wild?"

"What's that?" Brice asked.

Steve pushed open the door to the outside. "When she walked in, it seemed like the lights dimmed. Can you beat that?" He stepped into the night air, chuckling to himself.

"I guess when you're tired, you can see a lot of strange things," Brice offered.

"You sure do," Steve muttered.

xxxx

Reed and Malloy were uneasily waiting by the time Steve and Brice drove up in the unmarked police car and the mysterious woman pulled up behind them. She was the first to alight, hastening across the front lawn to where the two officers were standing over a body underneath a broken window.

"I live here, Officers," she said. "Have you found out who the dead man is?"

The policemen exchanged an uncomfortable look. "He didn't really have any identification on him," said Malloy. "Just a business card for a place called the Play It Again, Sam Club."

Hearing that as he exited the car, Steve rushed over with Sergeant Brice in tow. "What?!"

The woman, seemingly not bothered by that particular news, was studying the body. "It isn't my brother," she declared.

"How can you tell?" Malloy asked, grimacing over the gruesome state of the corpse.

"I can see enough. Anyway, he wouldn't have any reason to carry one of my club's business cards. He already knows where it is." She straightened, tossing the end of her wrap over her shoulder. "More than likely, this is the man who was coming to kill him. He could have visited the club, knowing he might find my brother there, and taken a card in order to remember the address."

"That's possible," Steve admitted. "But if your brother did this, he's still killed a man and we have to find him."

"I agree. But Lieutenant." She looked to him, her eyes boring into his. "It would have been self-defense."

Steve looked back. "Unless you're a mind-reader, you can't know that for sure. And I still need your name!"

"Find my brother. Then we'll talk." With that the woman moved back across the lawn in the direction she came.

Steve gritted his teeth. "I don't trust her," he said. "She could have killed this guy herself and made up the story she told me. Reed, Malloy, I want you two to follow her. Don't let her out of your sight!"

"We won't, Lieutenant," Reed vowed.

"I'm going to get another Homicide team out here to handle this," Steve continued, looking to Brice. "I still think we should check that club to see if her brother went there."

Brice nodded. "I'll get Lieutenant Tragg." He checked his watch. "Most clubs close at two A.M. If we hurry after the other team gets here, we should still be able to make it before the Play It Again, Sam Club closes."

"Good," Steve barked. "Let's get to it."

xxxx

The Play It Again, Sam Club was a bit like a time capsule. As soon as Steve and Brice showed their identification at the door and were admitted, it felt as though they had been transported back to the 1940s. The club was classy and retro in design, costumes, and entertainment. A blonde woman was crooning on the stage, backed by a jazz band. Cigarette girls milled among the crowd—albeit they weren't actually selling cigarettes. The customers talked and laughed, some seeming nostalgic, some fascinated, and others, right at home.

Steve suddenly stiffened as a dark suit caught his eye. "Holy . . ." He stared in disbelief as a woman dressed like the one in his office slinked out from a corner. Another was over at the bar, and a third was on the stairs.

Brice raised an eyebrow, but otherwise showed no real reaction. "It must be a costume the hostesses wear," he suggested. "It kind of reminds me of Ingrid Bergman in _Casablanca._ "

"Or any of countless other mysterious women from the Golden Age of Hollywood. I feel like I'm in the middle of a detective film on the late show," Steve groused. But, shaking himself out of his shock, he headed for the bar.

The woman there turned as he approached, regarding him questioningly. Although she wasn't the one who had visited him, she was strikingly similar in hairstyle and facial features.

"Excuse me, Miss," Steve said, taking out his badge. "I'm Lieutenant Drumm, LAPD. This is Sergeant Brice. We're looking for Carson Brill. Has he been here tonight?"

"No, but you're not the only ones asking about him," she replied.

"Oh? Who else has been asking about him?" Steve asked as he stuffed his badge back in his pocket.

She nodded to an unfriendly group moving slowly among the table. "They have. When I told them he hadn't been here, they said they'd wait. I don't want any trouble, Lieutenant. Their kind could really turn this joint inside-out and backwards if they have a mind to."

"We'll try to see to it that doesn't happen," Steve promised. Weaving around the tables himself, he soon caught up with the grisly gang.

They noticed him as soon as he approached. "What do you want?" the one in the lead snapped.

Again Steve introduced himself, staying on guard for any sudden attacks. "I'm looking for Carson Brill," he said. "I understand you're also trying to find him. I'd like to know why."

"We don't have to tell a cop anything," was the sneering response.

"If you have something to hide, I'll find out about it," Steve snapped. "You'd do well to just tell me now."

Their response was for someone behind the leader to lunge and try to throw a punch. Brice caught the fist in his hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he cautioned. "Especially not in here."

The thug looked at him with smoldering eyes. "We'd be happy to take it outside," he snarled.

"I don't want to see any trouble on the property at all," Steve retorted. "If you won't tell me about Carson Brill, we'll leave it at that. If you try to pick a fight, you'll all end up in jail. I can promise you that!" He stood his ground, looking to each member of the gang. "Well? What's it going to be?"

At first they actually seemed to be backing down. But the moment Steve started to relax, one of them leaped forward in an attempt to tackle him to the floor. Steve retaliated by judo-flipping him over his shoulder and to the floor. Several nearby customers cried out in shock.

"If anyone else tries that, they'll get more of the same," Steve vowed. "I suggest you take your friend and get out."

Apparently the leader was of the same mind. With a silent gesture to the others, he came forward and had two of the other lackeys haul the dazed thug to his feet. Now shamed in the eyes of all the staring patrons, the group slowly slunk towards the door.

The woman at the bar nodded in approval. "And don't let any of them back in, Pierre," she said to the maitre-d.

"I certainly won't, Madame," he assured her in nervousness, pulling on his tie and anxiously looking about.

With the crisis passed, the customers began to return to their conversations. On stage, the singer resumed the song she had paused in singing. Looking down at Steve, she tossed him a smile and mouthed _Wait here_ during a brief instrumental break.

Brice followed Steve's gaze. "What are we going to do, Lieutenant?"

Steve sighed. "That singer acts like she might have some information for us. We'll wait." He sat down at an empty table just to the side of center stage. Brice sat down next to him, setting his hat on the table.

It didn't take the woman long to wrap up her number. As the band started to play an instrumental jazz piece, she bounced down the steps and over to the two policemen. "I heard you were looking for Carson Brill," she said.

"That's right," Steve said, starting to take out his notepad. "Can you help us?"

She placed a finger to her chin. "Well, he _did_ call me tonight," she said. "I'm kind of his girl. He acted scared about something."

"Did he say what?" Steve pressed.

"He said someone was after him and he couldn't tell me why." She frowned. "Then he said something that didn't make sense."

"That might be a clue to his whereabouts," Steve said, perking up. "What was it?"

"Let's see. 'Where the mountain meets the sea, a deadly blossom grows.'" She made a face. "Does that make any sense to you?"

"It's an expression that means something like 'Beautiful things can hold danger'," Steve said. "Do you have any idea why he would say that?"

"No, none." She looked at him pleadingly. "You _will_ find him, won't you?"

"We're trying our best," Steve promised. "But you say you're his girl? Funny his sister didn't mention anything like that."

"His _sister?!_ " Now she stared in bewilderment. "He doesn't have a sister!"

"We've met the sister," Brice spoke, stunned. "She's the one who put us on to the case."

"Yeah? Well, I don't know who that could've been, Honey, but it wasn't a sister." The singer placed her white-gloved hands on her hips, her silver sequined dress glittering under the bright lights. "What did she look like?"

"She was dressed like these women in black around the club," Steve said. "She said she works here."

"Oh." The singer shrugged. "That could be any of a dozen women then. Carson's always hanging around here and most of them like him."

"But why the sister ploy?" Steve frowned. "She could have just as easily said she was a friend."

"Maybe she thought we'd be more likely to investigate if we thought there was a familial connection," Brice suggested.

"That's possible," Steve agreed. To the girl he said, "It would be helpful if we had a list of all the women in black who work here."

"Talk to Milly at the bar," she replied. "She runs this place."

"Really?" Steve raised an eyebrow. "Then why does she dress the same as some of her employees?"

"She likes to blend in and observe things without people knowing she's the big cheese," the singer said. "It helps her spot trouble a lot easier."

"I can imagine," Steve mused. "And what's your name?"

"Carla Darling," she said with a flip of her hair. "Call me anytime you want more information. Or when you've found Carson. I want to know at any hour of the day or the night. Got it?"

"We'll do that," Steve said with a curt nod.

"Good." Carla smiled at him and Brice before hurrying back to the stage, apparently hearing some cue from the band.

Steve sighed, leaning back in the chair as he finished scrawling down the notes from their conversation. "Let's talk to Milly and get that list," he said. "I want to know who that woman is."

"What about Carson Brill?" Brice asked.

Steve gazed off into the distance, pondering the strange words that had been given to Carla Darling. "'Where the mountain meets the sea, a deadly blossom grows.' I wonder if he could be hiding out in one of the caves along the coast. Say, maybe around Malibu Canyon?"

"I guess that's possible," Brice mused. "But there's probably hundreds of those caves, Lieutenant. How would we narrow it down?"

"Maybe all the caves where something poisonous grows right nearby?" Steve suggested. "Poison oak, lupine . . ." He sighed, tapping the notepad with his pen. "I know that might not narrow it down enough, but it's something."

Brice nodded. "I'll call the station and have them make a list of every area that would fit," he offered.

"Good," Steve said in approval. "I'll get that employee list from Milly."


	2. Chapter 2

Milly looked up in approval when Steve came back to the bar. "Hello again, Lieutenant," she greeted. "Would you join me in a drink?"

"I'm sorry, no; I'm still on duty," Steve replied. "I'd like a list of all the girls you have working for you who dress like you."

"I can prepare that easy enough, if you have a notepad and pen," Milly said, setting her drink aside.

"Here." Steve pushed the requested items across the bar. Milly took them, quickly beginning to write out each name.

"So tell me," Milly asked. "Do you like being on the police force?"

"Sometimes," Steve answered.

"Have you ever thought of quitting the force and opening your own private office somewhere?" Milly looked up at him with seductive, dark eyes.

"No, not really." Steve looked back, not taking the bait. "I'd rather be a police officer than a private detective. Not that I have anything against private detectives. One of my closest friends is a P.I. But they're not privileged to be let in on all the intricacies of a case."

"I suppose. If they're clever, though, they could find out anyway," Milly said, returning to her writing.

"The police department discourages that," Steve grunted.

"You mean not even for your friend?" Milly glanced up while continuing to write.

"Not even for my friend," Steve confirmed. "He doesn't get special privileges when I'm on duty just because we like to have fun together when I'm off-duty."

Milly nodded. "You're a dyed-in-the-wool cop, alright." She stuck the pen through the spiral binding and pushed the notepad back to him.

"Thanks. Do you have something against cops?" Steve wondered.

"No," Milly shrugged. "I just think you'd make a perfect private detective. Then again, I'm sure you're an asset to the police force."

"I do my best." Steve looked over the list. "Thanks for this."

"Anytime, Lieutenant. If you ever decide you want to try the private detective thing, look me up. I can probably find a good secretary for you." Milly leaned on the bar and propped herself up.

"I'll remember that," Steve said, unsure what to think as he left to find Sergeant Brice.

Apparently the Sergeant had heard a fair portion of the conversation. As he came over to Steve, his eyes were dancing in amusement.

"Oh, what are you looking at?" Steve grunted.

"Do you still feel like you're in the middle of a detective movie?" Brice wondered.

"Quite frankly, yes," Steve scowled. "Even though that doesn't have anything to do with what I was going to ask you."

"They're working on the list now, Lieutenant," Brice assured him. "They think it might be ready by the time we get back to the station, or soon after."

Steve looked to him in approval. "Good. Let's get going."

"You really want to get out of here," Brice noted as they walked to the doors.

"I want to get back to where things might start making sense again," Steve retorted. "This isn't Mike Hammer! This is real-life!" He stuffed the notepad in his pocket and strode quickly to the door.

Laughing to himself, Brice followed.

xxxx

Even though the list of the caves was ready before morning, there wasn't much that could be done on that angle until it was light. Steve and Brice continued to ponder over the issue, however, and after a sleep that was all too short, they headed for the beaches.

"Lieutenant, he couldn't be staying in one of these caves right by the water all the time," Brice protested. "When the tide comes in, it fills most of them!"

"I know," Steve nodded. "And if we're to take his cryptic statement literally, he meant the caves that are that close. Here's one with poison oak growing around it. Be careful." He stood in the doorway and shined his flashlight inside. "There's no one in here. Coming to think of it, though, he could have even meant a cave that opens at the beach, but goes back deep enough that the water doesn't reach all of it."

"I guess so," Brice mused. "Do we have a record of any of those kind?"

"They're on this list somewhere, but I don't think they're specially marked," Steve grunted.

They moved down the coast, peering into each cave. Finally, as they approached one that had a strange shelf inside it, Steve went in for a better look.

"Anything?" Brice called from the doorway.

"Yeah," Steve called back after a moment. "There's some kind of a metal box up here." He brought it down, noting the tag that read _Carla._ "Offhand, I'd say Brill must have hid it."

"Is it locked?" Brice wondered.

"It is." Steve tucked it under his arm and came back out of the cave. "Maybe he already gave Carla the key. We'd better go find her and ask."

"Are we going to forget about the idea of Brill hiding in a cave himself?" Brice asked.

"Probably," Steve said. "I doubt he would be where he hid something for Carla to find. But we could finish checking this beach, at least."

That search was unfruitful, so they drove back to the city and located Carla Darling's home address. She wasn't entirely pleased to be awakened so early after a late night in the nightclub, until she saw who was at the door.

"It's you!" she exclaimed in excitement and joy. "Did you find Carson?!"

"I'm sorry, we haven't," Steve said. "But we found something he apparently left for you. May we come in?"

"Of course!" Carla stepped aside, holding open the apartment door. When the two came in, she shut the door after them.

"Miss Darling, did Brill ever give you a key?" Steve began.

"A key?" Carla blinked in surprise. "Yeah, he did, actually. He gave me a card with a key hanging on a ribbon. The card said to never lose the key, because it was the key to his heart and I was the only one who could hold it." She gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Cheesy and all, but adorable, isn't it? I was pretty touched."

Brice smiled a bit.

Steve just nodded. "Do you still have the key?"

"Of course," Carla retorted. "Did you think I'd let it go after something cute like that? It's here on my entertainment center." She reached for a card on top. "Now, what do you want with it?"

"We have a theory that the key might fit this lock." Steve held up the metal box. "It was in a cave near the ocean."

Carla's eyes widened. "Where the mountain meets the sea," she breathed. "But what about the deadly blossom jazz?"

"There was a lot of poison oak growing on the cliff side," Brice put in. "We were only checking areas where poisonous plants grow."

"That's clever. Okay, let's see what Carson left me. And it'd better be instructions on how to find him!" Carla jabbed the key into the lock. As expected, it turned.

The sight inside the old box stunned all of them. "Money," Steve breathed in surprise.

"Lots of money," Brice said.

Carla reached for a bundle held together by a piece of paper. "But . . . where would Carson get all of this bread?" she whispered. "He's sure not rich."

"Could he have stolen it?" Steve wondered. They still didn't know why those men were after him, after all.

"No!" Carla shot back. Then, considering her emphatic reply, she paused and looked down. "Well, unless it was from Butch. . . ."

"Who's Butch?" Steve demanded.

"Carson worked for him, until just recently," Carla said slowly. "He was fired, but he said he was thinking of quitting anyway. He thinks Butch is a bookie."

"He 'thinks'?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Butch has a legitimate business," Carla explained. "He runs a grocery store. But Carson figured it was a front for something."

"He must have found out, to have this kind of money," said Steve.

Brice nodded. "Maybe he just didn't want to tell you he'd found out for sure, since that could put you in danger."

"Maybe," Carla said slowly. "But if this is stolen money, even from a crook, I can't keep it, right?"

"Right now we don't even know what it is," Steve said flatly. "But since there's been a homicide at Brill's house, and this seems to have been left for you by Brill, it's evidence. We'll have to keep it for now."

"There was a homicide?!" Carla cried, the money dropping from her hands and into the box. "Who?!"

"We're not sure of that yet, either," Steve sighed. "The woman pretending to be Brill's sister said the dead man wasn't him."

"She might even be the murderer, for all we know," Brice said. "She could have concocted the whole story about her brother to try to get us to look at him as the prime suspect instead of her."

"Do you have any idea who she might be yet?" Carla demanded.

"We looked up the house address and Brill lives there alone," Steve said.

"Well, of course he does!" Carla shot back.

"And two officers asked the neighbors and none of them remember seeing her," Steve continued.

"Two other officers were following her last night, but they lost her," Brice said. "She really doesn't want to be found."

"Oh, that's just great!" Carla scowled, folding her arms.

"I had Milly check off everyone who was on her shift when we were there last night," Steve said. "I looked at all of them to make sure our mystery woman hadn't snuck in again. She hadn't, so that leaves the rest of the list. We're going to be visiting all of them today."

"Good luck," Carla said. "And I want to know the minute you have any leads!"

"Miss Darling . . ." Steve looked at her, hard. "You know we might find out Brill killed that man."

"Then I want to know that, too," Carla retorted.

"We could end up thinking you're helping him hide out somewhere," Steve said.

"I wouldn't do that," Carla insisted. "Not from cops, anyway. From Butch, yeah, I might!"

"Did he come to you wanting help to hide from Butch?" Steve asked, very pointedly.

"No, he didn't," Carla said matter-of-factly, folding her arms.

"Alright." Steve sighed. "For now, we'll believe you. We don't have any evidence to prove otherwise." He turned to head for the door. "We'll be in touch."

"Goodbye, Ma'am," Brice said with a slight smile.

"Goodbye," Carla said slowly.

Out in the hall, Brice looked to Steve questioningly. "Do you really think Carla might be hiding Brill somewhere?"

"Not really," Steve admitted. "Not unless she's a very good actress. Which _is_ a possibility. I'll have someone watch her. For now, let's focus on other ideas. The lab boys should have been able to identify the murder victim by now, for one thing."

A quick call to the police lab proved that to be true. And Steve couldn't say he was that surprised to learn that the man was Bruce "Butch" Walker, who owned a small independent grocery store in the Valley.

"What do you say we join the team that's going out there and see if there really is a bookie joint in the back?" Steve mused.

"I'm all for that," Brice said. "But does this bump Carson Brill up on our suspect list?"

"What do you think?" Steve retorted. "It happened right in front of his house. He had opportunity as well as motive. I'm still suspicious of that mysterious woman too, though. I'm not going to count her out. And if Butch really was mixed up in criminal activities, there's probably a lot of people who would have liked to see him dead."

"So our suspect list has probably grown a mile long," Brice remarked.

"We'll see," Steve said as he climbed into the car.

xxxx

Walker's Grocery was a pleasant locale from both the outside and the inside. The forensic team was already there when Steve and Brice pulled up, as well as a growing crowd of stunned and curious onlookers in the parking lot.

"We always shop here," said one concerned woman. "What's going to happen to this place now?"

"I really don't know, Ma'am," Steve said. "We'll be looking into that."

He also noticed Edith Fallon among the crowd. Deciding she might be helpful, he went over. "Hello, Mrs. Fallon," he greeted.

"Oh, Lieutenant." She smiled. "Are you in charge of this case?"

"Yeah. Tell me, did you shop here too?" Steve took out his notepad and pen.

"Sometimes," she said.

"Did you ever notice anything strange or suspicious?"

Edith paused as she considered the query. "No," she said slowly. "I don't think so . . . wait!" She jerked to attention. "There _was_ one time when something kind of odd happened."

"What was that?"

"It was just the other day. I was at the back of the store in the Dairy section when I heard arguing behind the milk."

"Behind the milk?" Steve quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes. You know how the wall is open back there so they can put the milk out from behind?" Steve nodded. "Well, the stock boy or whoever he was was in the process of doing that. The other person had come there to talk to him, I guess, and they started arguing."

"Could you actually hear what they were saying?" Steve asked.

"Sometimes. I couldn't always because of the freezer. But one thing I heard very clearly was when the other man yelled, 'You've got a lot of nerve, accusing me like that!' And the stock boy said, 'Now it isn't just an accusation. Now I have proof!'"

Steve was writing furiously. "Did you ever hear any names mentioned?"

"No," Edith admitted. "But the other man declared, 'You'll never get the chance to blast your proof anywhere. You're fired!' And the stock boy said, 'I was going to quit anyway.'" He shoved the last milk bottle out and stormed away."

"Did he come out of the back room?"

"I didn't see him. He was probably collecting his belongings first." Edith looked to Steve. "Does any of this help at all?"

"It helps a great deal, Mrs. Fallon," Steve said. "Thank you."

"Lieutenant?"

Steve looked up with a jerk at Brice's call. The Sergeant was standing in the doorway. He didn't need to speak further for Steve to know that something had been found.

"Excuse me," he said to Mrs. Fallon and the crowd. "If any of the rest of you saw or heard anything strange, an officer will be out to take your statements. Otherwise, there's nothing for you to do here. Please go home."

Most of the crowd began to disperse. A few lingered, whether to give statements or just out of stubborn curiosity, Steve was unsure. He would send someone out to them anyway, just in case.

"What is it, Brice?" he asked low when he reached his partner.

"There's a secret panel in the stockroom," Brice reported. "It leads to a small gambling joint."

Steve perked up. "That isn't much of a surprise by this point," he said, "but it's good to know anyway."

"Did Mrs. Fallon have anything interesting to say?" Brice wondered as they walked inside.

"Quite a bit," Steve said. "It backs up Carla Darling's story of what Brill told her. Unfortunately, it doesn't do much for clearing him. But he mentions he has proof of something."

"You don't think that money was really meant to be turned over to the police instead of used as a nest egg for Carla, do you?" Brice pushed aside a cardboard display on soup that was drooping into his path.

"You'd think there would have been a note in that case," Steve said.

"Do we know there wasn't?" Brice replied. "We haven't gone all through the box yet; we just looked at what was on the top."

"It would be strange to put a note at the bottom," Steve said. "Then again, everything about this case is strange. But anyway, the money wouldn't have made very conclusive proof of anything, not unless it was deliberately used for gambling purposes and was marked somehow or the serial numbers taken down. And then taking it away from Walker would defeat the whole purpose. It would need to be found in his possession to hold any weight."

Brice nodded. "Things really aren't making any sense," he said ruefully.

Steve looked around with a sharp eye as they entered the stockroom and from there, traveled to the now-open secret panel. The gambling room was indeed small, but it still managed to host at least one each of some of the most popular games of chance.

"This must have been a fairly lucrative operation," he remarked. "This grocery store's been open for years, hasn't it?"

"I remember it here when I first started working with Lieutenant Tragg," Brice said.

"I wonder if Butch Walker was the one who started it." Steve examined the blackjack table. "The murdered man didn't look that old. Not that it was very easy to tell much of anything about him," he added darkly.

One of the officers opened a door leading into a private office. After a moment he came back out. "There's some interesting stuff in here, Lieutenant," he reported, "including a security tape Walker must have been watching."

"Oh really? I'll come and look in a minute," Steve said. "Hmm, this is also interesting." He pulled out a small photograph that had become wedged under the green cloth of the table.

"What's that?" Brice wondered.

Steve turned it around. "Walker, I suppose, and a woman. It looks like . . ."

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. The last thing anyone was expecting was for a small panel to open in the back wall and admit a beige-gloved hand holding a revolver. But it happened, and the gun fired, taking a chink out of the edge of the blackjack table.

Immediately the police snapped to attention, diving down and firing back, without success. When all six chambers had been emptied, the shooter did not reload. The panel closed and footsteps could be heard clicking away.

"Get after them!" Steve ordered.

Two officers jumped up and ran to the wall, struggling to figure out how to open it. Steve was about to join them when a hiss of pain called his attention elsewhere. Sergeant Brice was slumped on the floor against the slot machine, clutching his left arm.

"How bad is it?" Steve demanded, dropping to his knees to look.

"It's not bad, Lieutenant," Brice replied, grimacing nevertheless. "You should go with them."

"Oh, it's too late now," Steve said in disgust. The footsteps had faded away and the panel still wasn't open. "It probably only opens from the other side."

Two other officers had run to the door leading into the alley, hoping to catch the shooter there. But they trudged back, shaking their heads. "If they went out that way, they were already gone," Malloy sighed.

"Well, nevermind that now," Steve barked, still examining Brice's arm. He pressed a clean handkerchief against the wound to stop the flow of blood.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Reed asked in concern.

"No," Brice choked out. "I'm alright. I can just be dropped off at the hospital."

"You're lucky; it only grazed you," Steve said. "It could have easy enough hit your heart if they'd aimed just a few inches over." He tied the handkerchief in place and stood by to be ready to help as Brice struggled to his feet. "Reed and Malloy will take you to the hospital. I'm going to examine that private office and then find those other girls that work at the nightclub. I'll also talk to Carla Darling again." His tone had darkened again. "I'm going to see to it that this case is wrapped up today, if at all possible."

Brice looked to him in surprise. "Do you know who the killer is, Lieutenant?"

"Right now, I have a pretty good idea," Steve answered. "And they're going to regret what they've done and what they tried to do."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: I'm sorry it took so long to get this last segment up! It's been crazy this past week and I kept forgetting I wanted to look this part over again before posting it. I really enjoyed writing it; I think I might write another along the same lines sometime.**

The afternoon was long and grueling. It wasn't easy tracking down all of the other girls who worked at the Play It Again, Sam Club, nor was it always easy getting them to talk.

It didn't help that Steve was furious over what had happened to his partner and friend. It wasn't serious, but it could have been, and he was boiling mad at whoever had fired that gun.

By the time he pulled up in front of Carla Darling's apartment building, he had at least learned some valuable information, and he was pleased that it went along with his forming theory. Now to see if Carla would further confirm it.

He paused to talk with the officer on duty. "Anything?" he asked.

"Nothing suspicious has happened while I've been here," the young man replied. "She went out on her balcony to have breakfast, but other than that she hasn't come outside. I talked to her neighbors and they said she usually stays indoors and sleeps late."

"She was up early today," Steve said as he headed inside.

Carla answered right away when he knocked. "Oh, Lieutenant!" she greeted, seeming nervous. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Really? Why's that?" Steve asked, staying on guard.

She shrugged helplessly. "I . . . I just thought you'd finished your business. Unless you found Carson, of course. . . ."

"Nevermind, Carla." A young man suddenly appeared in the doorway next to her. "We have to trust someone, and I've only heard good things about Lieutenant Drumm." He looked to Steve. "Lieutenant, I'm the man you're looking for."

Steve raised an eyebrow. " _You're_ Carson Brill?"

"That's right. I've been hiding out because I've been afraid that Butch Walker's men would come after me." Carson sighed. "I had a good reason to kill him, after all."

" _Did_ you kill him?" Steve demanded.

"No, I didn't. I wasn't even home when it happened. I can prove it." Carson looked to Steve. "What did you come here to talk about?"

"There's a new angle of the case I'm looking into," Steve said. "I just want to ask a few questions."

Carla noticeably relaxed. "Oh. Well, then, by all means come in!" she chirped, opening the door wider.

"Thank you," Steve said, stepping into the apartment.

xxxx

The Play It Again, Sam Club wasn't open in the daytime, albeit it was nearing evening by the time Steve arrived. As he stepped inside, the light from the doorway shone into the darkened nightclub, capturing him as a silhouette.

A lone figure sat at the bar, sipping from a martini glass. "We're closed," the woman's voice said flatly.

"I know." Steve came and leaned on the bar. "I'm not here as a customer, Milly."

"Oh? And what are you here for?" Milly turned to look at him more fully. "I don't suppose you decided to share a drink with me."

"No, I'm here to arrest you." Steve laced his fingers, looking at her calmly, darkly, his eyes burning with an inner fire.

Milly was completely unfazed. "What do you think I've done?"

"You murdered Butch Walker in front of Carson Brill's house," Steve retorted. "And you tried to kill a lot of police officers a half hour ago." He straightened. "You wounded my partner."

"I'm sorry." Milly stood, setting her martini glass down. "But I don't hear any proof that it was me, Lieutenant."

"Technically, it could have been any one of your girls," Steve said. "They all get the standard beige gloves. Whoever shot at us was wearing beige gloves. And high-heeled shoes—I heard them very distinctly as the shooter ran away."

"Then you must have another reason to specifically accuse me," Milly said.

"I have," Steve agreed. "The shooter stepped into some dirt as she was running away. We got an excellent moulage of her left shoe. I see dirt on your left shoe. And I wonder if you would pass a paraffin test?" He looked to her gloves.

Milly breathed harder, either nervous or angry. But when she spoke, her voice was still level. "It's all circumstantial. And how does any of it tie me in with Butch Walker?"

"He was dating you. I found that out by talking to the other girls at the club. Not to mention from a picture I found caught in the blackjack table in Walker's store. Only he turned his attention to Carla Darling as soon as he saw her, didn't he? You were jealous. I should tell you that Carla confirmed all of this."

"She's lying," Milly retorted.

"Is Carson Brill lying too?" Steve watched Milly stiffen. "Yes, we found him. Carla _was_ hiding him. He said you were on his street right around the time he found Butch dead in his front yard. Were you hoping he'd be blamed and the police would shoot him on sight?"

"Of course not! And what about the woman who approached you in your office?" Milly retorted. "The killer could have been her! It's ridiculous to accuse me!"

"Oh, but Milly." Steve stepped closer to her. "That woman in my office was _you._ All you had to do was change your appearance a little with some makeup. You're well-versed in show business; that would be all too easy for you. You pretended to be a concerned sister and tried to use me and Brice as birddogs to sniff him out, hoping that if we didn't shoot him, you could do it before he could tell us what he knew."

Milly took a step back. "You can't prove any of this!" she snapped. "Not for certain! Just because I might have been on the street doesn't mean I'm the murderer!"

Steve towered over her. "No, it doesn't, but I can offer a lot more evidence," he retorted. "We have the security tapes from Walker's gambling joint. There's some real juicy stuff on there. Not to mention, your fingerprints are all over his private office. And the picture I mentioned."

Milly stiffened. "That still doesn't prove . . ."

"Give it up," Steve growled. "You know, it's really a shame you decided crime was the way to go, Milly. Criminals are always caught eventually."

Something in his tone of voice must have reached Milly, because her head bowed in resignation. She didn't say more, but she also didn't resist arrest.

xxxx

It was dark by the time Steve delivered Milly personally to the police station and filled out a report. "Oh, Sergeant," he called, flagging down Sergeant MacDonald as he passed, "have you heard anything about Sergeant Brice?"

"Yes, I have, Lieutenant," MacDonald answered. "He's alright; they've already discharged him. He's supposed to go home, but . . . well, you know Sergeant Brice." He gave a rueful smile. "He might just come back here instead."

"Yeah, he just might," Steve said with a fond smile of his own. "I'll see that he goes home to rest if he shows up here."

"Has that woman you brought in confessed to anything?" MacDonald wondered.

"She finally did," Steve nodded. "It was all pretty much like I'd laid it out."

MacDonald shook his head. "What a twisted case."

"No kidding." Steve headed for the hall. "I'm going to step outside for a minute."

"Alright. See you, Lieutenant."

The night was cool and somewhat mysterious as Steve opened the door and then leaned against the outside wall, thinking. But when the air changed and even the light from the moon seemed to dim, he jumped a mile. "What the . . ."

A woman in black was standing silhouetted under the nearest street lamp. "I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant."

"For what?" Steve asked, immediately wary. He pushed away from the wall, walking closer to her. "Who are you?"

"I wanted to thank you for solving the case, except for one small factor. I, and not the murderer, was the woman who originally came to you." She came closer as well.

"How do you know I solved the case?" Steve frowned. "There's nothing about it in the papers yet."

"I've been watching you." She spoke calmly, unconcerned, looking up at him.

"Oh really?" Steve regarded her in annoyance. "You eluded the officers we had following you."

"Maybe I should say, I've observed you off and on throughout the day, from a safe distance. And I was in the Play It Again, Sam Club when you arrested Milly."

Steve folded his arms. "Did you already know Milly had killed Walker?"

"No. But you put it together so nicely."

"You've got some explaining to do," Steve said, unmoved. "Such as why you fed me that line about being Brill's sister."

"I admit I lied about being Carson's sister, but my intentions were good and not ill. I'm glad you proved him innocent."

"What about the threatening note made out to Brill's sister?" Steve frowned. "Did you write it up yourself?"

"No; it was really a note that came to me," she said. "It just wasn't actually about Carson. My real brother disappeared under mysterious circumstances after he started investigating Butch Walker and I've always suspected him of being responsible. When Butch started threatening Carson the same way, I didn't want another innocent party to suffer the same fate as my brother."

"You could have told all of this in the first place," Steve objected.

"I could have, but I don't think you would have believed me."

"Oh? And why not?"

"That doesn't matter now. What's important is that Butch Walker can never hurt anyone again, including Carson."

"There's still that little matter of the money," Steve said, still eyeing her warily.

"I'm sure you'll clear that up as well." Now she was standing directly in front of him.

"All the girls I talked to knew about it, but not where Brill got it," Steve said. "One of their boyfriends even tried to bribe me for a share of it."

"Of course you didn't agree." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Of course I didn't," Steve growled.

She nodded knowingly. "You're far too upright to ever be bribed."

"You sure seem to know a lot about me," Steve observed.

"I know your type," she smiled. "My real brother was a lot like you. Perhaps that was why I sought you out."

"Most of the police officers _are_ upright," Steve pointed out.

"I know. But I'm happy I chose you."

Awkward now, Steve searched for a new subject. ". . . So which one of Milly's girls are you?" he asked.

"I don't work there," she replied. "I wasn't truthful about that, either. Milly saw me and liked my sense of style so much that she based her girls' outfits on mine. I suppose you could say I am the unofficial fashion consultant.

"But tell me, Lieutenant, have you really found Carson Brill?"

"What makes you think I haven't?" Steve returned.

"You could have simply asked him about the money," she answered calmly.

"I did," Steve said in annoyance. "He said it was money he'd saved for himself and Carla and that the proof he had against Walker was a series of photographs he hid in a false bottom of the box."

"And has that proved true?" she asked.

"The pictures are there," he said. "But we're still checking into the origin of the money. I'm still not sure I don't believe he couldn't have stolen it from Walker."

"I'm sure you'll find the truth, whatever it is.

"And now I have to be going." She stood on tiptoe, kissing Steve on the cheek. "Goodbye, Steven."

"Lieutenant," Steve said, staring at her dumbly. "And I still don't even know who you are. You can't leave yet; you'll have to testify at the hearing and trial!"

She just stepped back and smiled. "Don't worry about that. Just remember this one more thing, Steven—Lieutenant. I'll be back." And with that she turned, sashaying back into the shadows as the moon regained its normal splendor.

Steve gaped after her in disbelief.

"Lieutenant?"

He jumped a mile. "Brice, what are you doing here?" he retorted, even though he had known the steadfast Sergeant would likely show up.

"I took a taxi here because I wanted to see how things were going." Brice followed Steve's gaze. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing now." Steve turned away, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief. "That woman came back."

"The one from your office?!" Brice blinked.

"Yeah. I don't know any more about her than I did before, except that she isn't Brill's sister and she isn't the murderer."

"And she likes you," Brice pointed out.

"She sure seems to." Steve sighed. "Well, come on, Brice. I'll take you home. I'll tell you about the case on the way." Giving up on locating a handkerchief, he headed for his car.

Smiling in a bit of amusement, Brice followed.

xxxx

Steve told Brice of the afternoon's adventures while they drove. But the more he talked, the more serious and distant he grew. Finally he lapsed into silence altogether, staring ahead at the darkened Los Angeles streets.

"Lieutenant?"

He started. "What?"

"What's wrong?" Brice turned to study him. "It sounds like everything is all wrapped up. It's an open-and-shut case, just like we like."

"That's just it, Brice," Steve growled. "Considering the twisted mess this case is, it's _too_ open-and-shut. Does it really make sense that the explanation is so simple? Or that there's so much evidence stacked up against Milly?"

Brice frowned, leaning back in the seat. "It can happen that way," he said slowly. "We know that."

"And we also know how many cases look open-and-shut that really aren't!" Steve retorted. "I keep feeling like I'm missing something. What about the goons that were in the nightclub last night? Milly didn't seem to want them there. And if they were after Brill and not her, would she have minded as much?"

"She didn't want them breaking up her place," Brice said.

"That's logical and understandable and even believable," Steve nodded. "But here's the thing: she didn't want them there, but she wasn't trying to get them out. What if she was hoping they were there for her, or that they'd find some evidence against her?"

"You've lost me, Lieutenant," Brice declared. "Are you saying that she _wanted_ to be found guilty? That wouldn't make much sense unless maybe she was covering up for someone and her confession is a fake."

"That's possible," Steve said.

"But who would she be covering up for?" Brice protested. "The person she loved is the one who's dead!"

"Maybe we have this case upsidedown and backwards," Steve mused. "You know how those old detective films sometimes make it seem like everything's solved and then there's one final twist in the last few minutes that really throws the detective for a loop. And the whole time we've been on this case, it's felt like one of those old detective films. I think I should talk to Carla Darling again."

"Is that what you're going to do after you drop me off?" Brice asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, don't worry about that. I'm alright, Lieutenant. Really, I am. And if there's still something that needs to be solved on this case, I want to be part of that."

Steve frowned. "You're supposed to rest."

"I won't anyway," Brice replied. "I'll just be thinking about the case and wondering what's happening to you. And anyway, you might need backup."

Steve sighed, but half-smiled in the dark. "Some people think of you as quiet and unassuming, but when you get talking, you really have some stubborn ideas. Alright, let's go. But when we get there, you stay out of sight. I might not need any help and I don't want someone taking another shot at you."

"They won't know I'm there," Brice promised. "Unless you need me."

Steve nodded. "I'll hold you to that."

"Oh, and you probably ought to clean off that lipstick," Brice said slowly.

"What? Oh." Steve sighed. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

Brice handed him a handkerchief. "You can take this."

"Thanks." Steve looked in the mirror, quickly wiping the lipstick from his cheek.

xxxx

Carla was readying herself for a performance that night when the doorbell rang. "Just a minute," she called, fixing an earring on her right ear as she walked to the door. She drew back in surprise to see Steve there. "Oh . . . Lieutenant," she greeted. "What is it?"

"Just a few more questions that need clearing up," Steve answered. "I see you're undaunted by the news of your boss's arrest."

She shrugged. "Business goes on. Come in, but this won't take long, will it?"

"I don't think so." Steve stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar for Brice to hear in the hall.

"Okay. Shoot." Carla crossed to the end table and reached for the elbow-length white gloves she had left there.

Steve stood and watched her. "Milly's story is that she was in love with Butch Walker and she became jealous when he started noticing you," he said. "You confirmed that."

"Uh huh. So did Carson, if you remember right." Carla nodded.

"I remember. But what I'm wondering is whether the man I talked with really was Carson," Steve said flatly.

Carla stiffened. "What? Who else would he have been?"

"Oh, I don't know. Butch Walker, perhaps?" Steve continued watching Carla steadily. Her hands were starting to shake. "It occurred to me that maybe we've had this whole case figured wrong. What if the murdered man is Carson Brill? And what if Butch Walker did it and then tried to make it look like the body was his, instead? Obviously he would have to drop out of sight in case the police ever got wise to the truth. Maybe he knew about Carson's savings for you—and more importantly, the evidence against him—and wanted to take that with him, so he came and bothered you about the key."

"Why wouldn't I have told you?" Carla spat.

"He could have threatened you and forced you to play along when I came by this afternoon. He could still be here now, listening to every word we say. After all, the money is still evidence, and if he wants it, he'll have to wait until we release it. That's going to be a long wait, Carla. Do you think he'll last that long? Do you think _you_ will?"

"No!" Carla shot back. "You're wrong, completely wrong about everything!" She whipped around to face him, her eyes flashing with anger and fear. "And it doesn't make sense that he would tell you about the hidden pictures if he's really Butch Walker!"

"You're right; that doesn't make sense," Steve agreed. "But a lot of things haven't been making sense lately. The evidence could be faked and actually help get Walker off the hook instead. And you could have been in on the scheme the whole time. And meanwhile, Milly knows nothing of that but just wants to protect Butch, so she lies and confesses that she killed whoever was laying dead outside Brill's house." He folded his arms. "Are you going to just let her take the rap? Are you really so cold and hard that your conscience won't bother you when you think about what she did to try to cover up?"

"It was her choice, even if she is lying," Carla retorted, still edgy and nervous.

"But it's a pretty high price to pay. You don't seem like a heartless woman, Carla." Steve stepped closer. "If my story is wrong, then how about you tell me the right one?"

"You already have the right one!" Carla cried. "It's Butch Walker that's dead. And Milly killed him!"

"No."

They both looked up as a door opened and the young man from the afternoon came in, solemn and shamefaced.

" _No_ what?" Steve demanded.

"Milly didn't kill him. I did." He looked down. "I really am Carson Brill. And the dead man really is Butch Walker."

"No!" Carla ran to him, grabbing his arm. "What are you saying, Carson?! You can't!"

"I have to, Carla," he retorted. "I didn't know an innocent person was actually going to confess! I thought it was just going to be an unsolved crime!"

"You told me about seeing Milly on the street," Steve frowned. "Surely you knew that would implicate her."

"But I thought she'd have a reasonable explanation for it," Carson protested. "I never dreamed she'd decide to confess!" He ran a hand through his hair. "What's the matter with her?!"

Steve folded his arms. "Why don't you tell me about what really happened, Mr. Brill?" he asked. "First I should inform you of your rights."

"I know my rights," Carson retorted impatiently. "Look, Lieutenant, I killed Butch alright, but he came there to kill me. There was a fight and I finally grabbed the metal pipe away from him and hit him with it. I was panicked and furious. He was going to kill me and then call his men to kill Carla and take the key from her. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let any of it happen!"

"So why didn't you call the police and say it was self-defense?" Steve frowned.

Carson looked down. "I was scared. I was afraid I wouldn't be believed. And I was also afraid that Butch's men would be coming after me. He might have some in the police department. I didn't know who I could trust.

"After it was done, I went to Carla's place to hide out. She didn't know until she got off work and came home. I told her everything and she agreed to let me stay here, out of sight, until we could figure out what to do. But I didn't know anything about the Milly angle or that she would shoot at you or say she did it! That changes everything!" He stepped forward. "You can arrest me now, Lieutenant. I won't resist."

At his side, Carla was crying. " _No,_ Carson! Don't do this. They'll never let you go!"

"If it really was self-defense, there shouldn't be any trouble, Miss Darling," Steve retorted. "I even know a good lawyer to recommend for Mr. Brill." He reached and took Carson's other arm. "Let's go."

Carla finally let go of him and grabbed Steve. "But it was me!" she cried, her voice strangled. " _I_ killed Butch Walker!"

Steve paused, frowning as he really turned her attention to her. "You? Why?"

"Carla, don't," Carson snapped.

Carla shook her head. "You were willing to take the rap for me, but I can't let you," she insisted. Looking to Steve she said, "I was going over to see Carson when Butch came out. He said he was there to kill Carson, but now that I was there, he wanted to have a little fun with me too." The tears were falling now. "He . . . he grabbed me and I . . . I picked up some small sculpture laying around in the yard and hit him with it and he was _dead!_ And then Carson came out and I told him what happened and he said we'd have to pretend we didn't know anything about it! Then Butch's men were on the warpath, but they thought Carson had done it, so he was hiding here and we were going to run away. But we couldn't figure out how to get out of here with that cop watching outside!"

"She's lying, Lieutenant," Carson interrupted. "She's covering for me!"

Sergeant Brice was coming into the room now, staring at the scene in concern. Steve was frowning, not sure who to believe. "Is there any proof of your story?" he said to Carla. "The statue, perhaps?"

She nodded. "Carson wanted to throw it in the ocean, but I wrapped something else up and gave it to him to throw in instead. I still have the statue."

Carson started, turning to stare at her in sickened horror. "Carla!"

"Well, I couldn't let you have the statue!" she retorted, openly sobbing now. "I knew that something might go wrong and everything would blow up in our faces. And I'd need that statue to help clear you! I knew you'd never say that it was me!"

Steve and Brice exchanged a look. "Alright," Steve said at last. "We'll have to take you both in right now. Bring the statue and we'll try to get this thing cleared up."

Carla nodded. "It's in my bedroom, under the bed in a pillowcase."

Brice went into the bedroom and quickly returned with it. Steve unwrapped it, nodding to himself as he looked it over and spotted the blood. "The lab boys will check it for fingerprints," he said. "Let's go."

Other apartment doors opened, the occupants surprised and confused as Steve and Brice led Carla and Carson into the hall. None of them spoke, but it was a somewhat eerie and unsettling scene as all the pairs of eyes stared at the procession.

"Lieutenant?" the officer asked as they arrived outside.

"You can leave your post now," Steve told him. "It's over."

xxxx

There was mass confusion at the police station for the next several hours.

The only fingerprints on the statue were soon shown to be Carla's and the blood and hair samples matched Butch Walker's. Carla was booked and Perry Mason was called as her lawyer.

Carson was extensively questioned and still wanted to stick with his story, but after counseling with Perry Mason, he finally agreed to tell the truth if that would best help Carla.

Milly recanted her confession, albeit she acknowledged being the one who had shot at the police officers. She was rebooked on that charge, as well as assault with a deadly weapon, tampering with evidence, and obstructing justice.

Steve sighed and leaned back in his office chair when it was all over. "You know, she even made sure we'd find that picture and the security tape?" He shook his head. "She was determined to make herself look guilty. Then she feigned innocence when I showed up, just to make it look more realistic. After all, she'd never admit to framing herself or that she was trying to get arrested. Or she hadn't planned to, anyway."

"But why did she do it?" Brice exclaimed, sitting on the edge of Steve's desk. "It still doesn't make sense, not if she really knew it was Walker who was dead."

"She claimed she thought it was Brill who did it," Steve sighed. "She was really in love with him, not Walker."

Brice shook his head. "This really has been a twisted case."

Steve smirked. "You can say that again." He got up again. "Well, all the reports are filled out and everything seems to be settling back in order. How about I take you home for real now, Brice? Then I'm going to get some sleep myself."

Brice smiled, sliding off the desk. "That sounds great to me, Lieutenant."

"After a day like today, I feel like sleeping for twelve hours straight," Steve grunted.

"I wonder if that woman's going to show up again," Brice remarked.

"By now, I honestly hope _not._ Although I don't know what she'll think when she reads about the case in tomorrow's paper. And I'd still like to know what the deal is with her," Steve growled. "On the other hand, I wonder if we're better off not knowing."

Brice gave him a sympathetic look. "Actually, Lieutenant, I learned something that might be about her. But you might not like it."

Steve paused, looking to him. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I went back through the housing records. In the 1940s, there was a woman who owned that house. I looked up her name and eventually tracked down a picture." Brice took it out of his pocket and held it out.

Steve took it, his stomach sinking in realization.

"It's her, isn't it?" Brice prompted.

"It sure _looks_ like her." Steve set the photograph down on his desk. "Obviously it couldn't _really_ be her. She looks just as young as she does in this picture, and she isn't a ghost. I've got your lipstick-smeared handkerchief to prove that. Not to mention that stuff she was telling about her brother disappearing after investigating Butch Walker."

"About that, Lieutenant. . . ." Brice's tone and expression made Steve's stomach drop even more. "Apparently he's Butch Walker, Jr. The senior Butch Walker started the grocery store and gambling joint, and he was operating in the 1940s."

"Oh _no!_ " Steve slammed his hand on the desk. "Then it might have been the senior Walker who made her brother disappear. Only it couldn't have been, because she couldn't have turned up here looking like _this!_ " He waved the picture for a moment and then rubbed his forehead. "I think I need to go to bed. Maybe in the morning I'll wake up and find out that all of this was just a bad dream."

Brice regarded him sympathetically, although he had to admit he was a bit amused.

"I know, I know, I sound like Hamilton Burger, but this is ridiculous," Steve growled.

Brice laid a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Let's go, Lieutenant," he encouraged. "Maybe you really will feel better in the morning, even though this isn't a dream."

"Yeah." Steve started to move, then paused. "She said she'd be back for the hearing and trial. If she really comes, I'm not letting her out of my sight until I get the answers to these questions." He headed for the door. "But that's a problem for another night . . . and another detective film experience. Something I'd be perfectly glad to postpone indefinitely."

Brice smiled, stepping past him into the outer room. Steve switched off the light before he followed, slipping into his suit coat as he went.


End file.
